


Like You Do

by wordslinger



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A symphony in four parts. We begin at the end, and hear the music backwards. Is a love story between two broken people any less meaningful if they can’t remember writing it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Note: Written based on[[this] ](http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/109122832170/person-b-making-a-deal-to-save-person-as-life-at)prompt by [otpdisaster](http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/), “Person B making a deal to save Person A’s life at the cost of all their memories together.”_

_It’s been tweaked for my purposes. I am not a medical expert so please forgive any creative liberties I’ve taken with the diagnoses mentioned within. My sources are: google. As the summary states, this is a story told in four parts, and backwards. Think Memento, but less jarring (hopefully)._

_Chapter titles are musical terminology left over from my days of being a choir geek._

* * *

 

**_Coda_ **

_(intimo)_

 

            His eyes fluttered open, and he took a moment to focus in the hazy grey light seeping through the window blinds. The woman next to him lay on her side, facing the door. He couldn’t stop himself from carefully tracing the outline of a horribly beautiful tattoo left exposed by the bedsheets gathering at her waist. His fingertips tingled when they passed over the scarred areas, and he felt as if he could _almost_ remember. She was like a butterfly in his blind spot: an enigmatic presence over his shoulder that he couldn’t quite make out, but which he knew hovered just out of sight.

            Dreams of amber eyes and golden hair seemed like they’d haunted him for most of his life, but he knew that wasn’t right. His mind only transposed her image into places from his past he hadn’t thought she belonged. Recently, though, Roy Mustang had been questioning things he’d taken for indisputable fact only weeks before. _Before_. It was a word he used commonly now when referring to the time prior to meeting Riza. How many mornings had he woken to find himself in her bed? He was losing count.

She startled him by rolling over. Her face rattled the bars of a cage Roy hadn’t known he was trapped in.

            “I know you want to ask about it.” Riza’s voice was melodic and soft in the early morning, but he knew she could also be hard and demanding. Roy blinked and reminded himself he _didn’t_ actually know if she could be hard _or_ demanding. The assumption was only one among many rabbit holes he ran into when around her.

            “Why did he do it?” Roy whispered.

            She brushed a strand of hair from his brow. “My father wasn’t a well man.”

            “I remember Master Hawkeye as being on the edge of madness, but to mark your back with such dangerous secrets… _why?_ ”

           “Books can be stolen.”

            “Your skin isn’t a page in a book, Riza.”

            “You already said that.”

            Roy frowned and took her hand in his. “I don’t remember.”

            “I know, and I’m sorry.”

            “Have I asked you if my flames hurt? Did I at least do that?” He’d been saving this question, knowing the sadness in her eyes would flare when asked. He was right.

            “You did.” Riza fell into one of the thoughtful silences he’d come to expect from her. “I know you probably think poorly of yourself for the scars, but I’d like it if you wouldn’t.”

            “Because you asked me to do it?”

            “Yes.”

            “You asked me to burn you, and I asked you to kill me.”

            A tear escaped her eye even as she tried to smile. “We were never perfect.”

            “You said that already,” he said through a smile.

            “You’ve been wanting to use that line, haven’t you?”

            “A little bit, yeah.” His grin faded as his thoughts returned to the deadly favors they’d asked one another. “Did we hate ourselves that much?”

            “Yes.”

            “Since Hughes died, I’ve always thought I was alone in my guilt over what happened in Ishval.”

            “You weren’t.”

            Riza’s gaze was one he’d had to acclimate himself to. She always seemed to be searching him for something. Or perhaps waiting. No one looked at him with the same piercing intensity that she did, and it stirred his mind in a way that both confounded and exhilarated. With every answered question, she breathed air into a room coated with ash and sent the motes flying until he couldn’t tell the floor from the ceiling.

            Her alarm clock sliced through the quiet, and Roy watched as she reached over to silence it. He couldn’t help but notice, again, the frayed patch of skin on her neck _. This_ scar, at least, hadn’t been seared into her skin by his alchemy. Riza Hawkeye’s body was a patchwork of permanent marks detailing her years by his side. Years that, despite his most fervid efforts, he could not remember. When he’d begun the inquiry into his own past with her, the once hidden mental blocks made themselves known. Roy had torn through them like overgrown ivy, only to find a brick wall beneath.

            “I’m going away this weekend.” Riza’s voice brought him back to the present. “It’ll be several days.”

            “Where?” He knew it probably wasn’t his business, but the question slipped free. Roy treasured the time they had together and coveted more. Being with Riza felt a lot like exposing the skin from which a bandage had just been ripped, but she made him feel alive. Somewhere in the wild tailspin she sent him into, he’d found security.

            “Home.”

            He knew what that meant. She’d be visiting whatever remained of the Hawkeye estate - a place he remembered well - though, in his memories, Berthold Hawkeye never had a daughter. Roy’s head began to throb. He’d been down this road before. She told him he could ask any question of her, and yet he found himself holding back. Certain subjects, like the cause of his current state, felt very much like a precipice.

            “Take me with you.”

            Riza smiled and kissed his knuckles. “Are you in the habit of taking days off whenever you want now? Does no one hold Colonel Mustang’s leash anymore?”

            “Did I have a leash before?” The sparkle in her eyes faded, and Roy regretted the question. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask-”

            “Don’t ever apologize. It’s _me_ who owes _you._ ” She sat up in bed and reached for the plain white t-shirt he’d tossed on her floor the night before. “I don’t mind if you come, but, Roy-”

            “I know it won’t help. That’s not why I asked.”

            Riza paused for a moment as she pulled the shirt over her head.

            “I understand you’ve canceled all your appointments with the therapist.” She turned to him. “Why?”

            “Spying on me?” he chuckled before taking a serious tone. “I don’t have amnesia, Riza. I think you know that.”

            Riza stared at him for an amount of time that might have made him uncomfortable in the past. “We’ll leave after lunch,” she finally said before leaving him alone in the bed.

            The property wasn’t nearly as run down as he’d expected or remembered. Apparently Riza had been taking care of her family home even in her absence, and he desperately tried to claw away at that brick wall he knew she hid behind. It was astoundingly surreal to know they had shared experiences in this house, but he couldn’t remember one single detail of them. Even more bizarre was the casual acceptance he’d had of his blotchy past before meeting her. How long would he have been content to not look over his shoulder at the butterfly if he hadn’t stumbled into her in front of the bookshop? The answer was terrifying. _For the rest of his life._

Roy wandered the halls of the house and paused in front of a door he guessed must have belonged to a much younger Riza Hawkeye. In his mind’s eye, this door hadn’t been there. Not that he particularly remembered the expanse of wall, he just hadn’t considered it. Now, as he stood in front of the door, it felt absurd to not have realized its existence. Of course, he still couldn’t recall ever grasping the knob or walking inside the room that lay beyond, but the brick wall in his head itched. _Somehow_ , it _itched_. He left the door in search of fresh air. His lungs felt sandy.

            Riza didn’t join him on the back steps until the sun began its descent. She sat next to him, threaded her arm through his, and laid her head on his shoulder.

            “What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly.

            “These last few months have been transformative, to say the least.” Roy kept his eyes on the horizon. “There are things I can’t believe I’ve forgotten-”

            “You didn’t forget them, Roy.” Riza pressed her lips to his shoulder and whispered, “I’d tell you if you asked.”

            “I don’t want to.” He pulled his arm from her grasp and wrapped it around her waist instead. “As much as I can’t recall, I know _myself_ well enough. I have a feeling I know where the trail of questions will lead, and I’m not willing to seek it out if it means I’ll lose you.” His voice trailed off into a thick murmur. “I can’t afford to lose you. _Not again_.”

            “You already said that,” Riza said through a quiet sob.

            “I trust that you’ll keep our past safe and remind me of the important things.” He pulled her closer. “Even if I can’t remember the _before_ parts, I know I love you.” Roy finally looked over at her and swiped tears from her cheeks, but the eyes that stalked him through his dreams were full of them still.

            “Love me like you do, then,” she breathed before pressing her lips against his.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Interlude_ **

_(triste)_

 

            _The sheets were rough against his back, but her skin was soft. She smelled of lilacs and gunpowder. He could not imagine anything sweeter. As she rose above him, her face grew blurred, but he felt her weight all the same. A deeply-seated affection radiated through his body. His muscles tightened in anticipation as she leaned down again. He could think of nothing other than tasting her lips even as she pressed her breasts against him and her hair brushed his shoulders. The scent of gunpowder and lilacs threatened to suffocate him, but he did not care. Her body felt so much like a home he no longer had. He hated to leave her and feared the hole she’d leave behind even more than the creeping ivy that would hide her from him when he woke._

_As he started to drift away, she whispered, “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”_

            The dreams were growing worse. They’d moved beyond the typical nocturnal emissions of a man who hadn’t taken anyone to bed in quite a long time and into an exploration of subconscious desires that made the hair on his arms prickle with unnerving anticipation.

            Matching a living presence to the woman in his mind had cracked open a Pandora’s Box, and Roy was reeling. He needed to see her again. Before he would seek her out, though, he’d satisfy his itching curiosity. That _name_. _Hawkeye_ wasn’t exactly common. Roy had spent years studying under Berthold Hawkeye, and he couldn’t recall the man ever having a daughter. Surely at some point he would’ve met her or seen a scrap of her belongings. Perhaps Riza Hawkeye wasn’t a daughter at all but a cousin or other distant relation. That explanation didn’t feel right either.

            If she was, in fact, his daughter, it would be incredibly rude of him to show up at Miss Hawkeye’s place of work and dredge up memories of her dead father. Despite the spots in his memory that had grown hazy with age, he remembered Master Hawkeye well, and it was entirely possible her absence during his apprenticeship was intentional. The man had been just short of mad. Roy couldn’t imagine the subject being pleasant for her, and he decided to steer clear until he could think of an approach that wouldn’t offend her.

            Four months after the warehouse incident that still seemed to be a talking point around headquarters, a stack of official yellow envelopes several inches thick were delivered to his office. Havoc complained about the amount of paperwork the colonel's injuries, hospitalization, and the mission itself had generated. Roy told him to start interviewing secretaries if he didn’t want to handle the clerical work anymore. His lieutenant gave him a loaded glance he chose to ignore. It was becoming a habit – both the glances and his disregard of them.

            Roy brought the final reports home to study over the glass of whiskey he couldn’t indulge with in the office. At first he thought he’d had too many drinks; however, when her name appeared, not once but _repeatedly_ throughout the documents, Roy had to step away from the liquor. _First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, adjutant._ The words swam on the page, and he felt dizzy. He knew her! Or, at least, he _should have_. She’d, apparently, served under him for the better part of a decade, and yet when he’d met her, there’d been nothing but a clumsy exchange of words and a brief conversation about the spring weather. If he hadn’t been so taken with her, he wouldn’t have bothered to try and catch her name at all.

            Why had she acted as if he’d been a stranger? Did she not remember him either? _What kind of bullshit was this?_

            As he flipped through the pages furiously, he found only a few answers. In her final statement, Lieutenant Hawkeye described finding him in the basement, bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to the torso, and she’d been the one to haul him to the ground floor, where Lieutenant Havoc radioed for a med-evac. While he was sedated and undergoing two separate surgeries to repair damage, she quietly retired. Roy found it odd that her resignation had gone through so quickly, but even more unsettling that he did not remember working with her in the slightest.

            His frustration peaked around midnight, and as Roy walked away from the mess of papers, he decided to have a private chat with his remaining lieutenant as soon as possible.

            “She threatened me,” Havoc said matter-of-factly.

            “She threatened you.” Roy’s eye twitched. “I don’t believe you.”

            Jean shrugged. “Not just me, everybody on the team.”

            “But _why?_ ” His head felt full of spider webs.

            “Listen, boss,” Havoc began slowly, “you weren’t in good shape when Ri- _Lieutenant Hawkeye_ dragged you out of that basement.” He leaned back in his chair. “Frankly, she wasn’t either. The whole thing felt… _weird._ We had to wait for the warehouse to be cleared by the scout team before the medics could get in, and it was damn near an hour. I’m surprised you made it.”

            _“Why don’t I remember any of this?”_

            “I don’t know, but you were drenched in blood. It was all over her, too.”

            “Get to the part where my adjutant _retires_ without a _word_ to me and _threatens_ the rest of my team not to mention _any_ of it.”

            Havoc eyed him for a long, silent moment before exhaling heavily. “She couldn’t handle you not remembering her.”

            “Why? If she was _just_ my aide… I mean, no one else left. I’ve checked the records, and only Falman isn’t with us anymore, and that’s not new.” He intentionally left out that he knew she hadn’t only been his aide but possibly the daughter of his alchemy master, and he very well should’ve known her since childhood.

            “Sir, Riza wasn’t _just_ your aide. She wasn’t _just_ anything.” Roy patiently watched Havoc twirl an unlit cigarette between his fingers before continuing. “You woke up briefly between operations. Do you remember?”

            “I don’t.”

            Jean nodded and went on. “She was there, and you looked at her like she was a total stranger. Her behavior was so out of character afterward, and if you ask me, she flunked that psych-eval on purpose.” He sighed. “Anyway, she had this crazy idea that you’d never come around and the same look in her eye as when I found the two of you in that warehouse. It scared the fuck out of me.” Jean shook his head and stuffed the cigarette back in his pocket. “I told her you’d snap out of it when you woke up fully, but she was so damn adamant. Two days before they took you out of sedation, her discharge packet came down, and she was gone.”

            Roy said nothing and drummed his fingers on the desktop.

            “She made it clear to Furey and I that you were to be allowed your own space and time to remember anything that hadn’t been taken-”

            “ _Taken?_ ”

            “Weird word choice, I know, but that’s what she said. She swore we’d get a bullet to the head if we breathed a word about her outside of necessary work-related topics.”

            “What about Breda?”

            “He wasn’t there, but I passed the message along.”

            “And my _information officer_ was just okay with that?”

            Havoc shrugged again. “We’ve been a team for a long time, sir. When Hawkeye gives an order, we follow it. She never answered to anyone but you.”

            “Why haven’t I ever heard her name until now? Surely someone else here at headquarters noticed her absence? _Something?_ ”

            For the first time in the conversation, his lieutenant shifted in his seat. “You and Hawkeye… well, people talked. When she retired, assumptions were made, and I doubt anyone wanted to bring her up in front of you.”

            “Fraternization gossip is always a hot topic; what makes this any different?”

            “Like I said, boss, Riza was never _just_ your adjutant.”

            “So my own team had assumptions?”

            “Well, I know _I_ did, but we never had a water cooler discussion about it. We all just figured it wasn’t our business.” Havoc narrowed his eyes. “Why the third degree, Colonel? You could’ve gotten all of this information from any one of your sources around town, and I know you took that dossier home last night. What’s with you?”

            It was Roy’s turn to feel uncomfortable. “It’s nothing, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”

            “Dismissed, my ass. You saw her, didn’t you?” Jean barked out a laugh and instantly quieted. “Did you talk to her? What did she say to you?”

            “Her dog jumped on me like he knew me, so I guess now I know why.” Roy paused. “She didn’t say anything to me a polite stranger wouldn’t.”

            “Did you remember anything?”

            “No… but she gave me her name when I asked, and it rang a very old bell.” Havoc quirked an eyebrow, and Roy stood from his desk. “We’ll discuss this more later. For now, let’s just carry on as before until I can figure this shit out.” His lieutenant nodded, and he went on. “How’s the hunt for a secretary going?”

            “ _Nicely_. I found one second lieutenant who actually prefers the skirt, and she’s coming in today for an interview.”

            Roy sighed. “I need someone who's more than just easy to look at, Havoc. Don’t make me do the interviews myself.”

            “Roger that, boss,” he said with a wink, and left Roy alone in his office.

            After requesting a personal copy of the incident report, Roy returned the packet to the records office. He considered pulling Lieutenant Hawkeye’s file, but it felt invasive. He’d much rather speak to her in person.

            Confronting her was easier in theory than practice. In the end, it was the persistent dreams that forced his hand. The morning he found himself sitting on a bench outside the bookshop where he knew she worked had followed a night filled with the same style of blurry but highly charged images. Roy had gotten no sleep and, eventually, given up.

            When he spotted her rounding a corner at the end of the block, his heart sped up to a painful gallop. Inexplicably, he wanted to be closer to her. To touch her. Now that he was aware they had a history together, her mannerisms made a lot more sense, and he could spot her tells. She paused some distance from him, but her dog didn’t show the same caution. The animal tugged on its leash and clearly would’ve tangled him the way he had before if given half a chance.

            “I’m sorry, but we don’t open for another hour,” she said quietly. Roy chuckled and gave her some points for efforts at ignorance.

            “I think you know I’m not here for books, Miss Hawkeye.”

            She sighed and reached inside her jacket pocket for a set of keys. “I suppose I do. Come in, if you like.” Roy followed her inside and watched as she puttered around the small shop and kitchen. The kettle didn’t take long, and she joined him at the table in the back office. Miss Hawkeye didn’t ask before adding a bag of black tea to his cup.

            “How do you know I prefer black?”

            “I’ve been making your tea for a long time, Colonel; I know how you take it.”

            “Why did you leave?”

            “Have you remembered, then? I didn’t think that would be possible.”

            “No, but you’ve been dancing around in my head while I sleep for months. I guess you could say I recognized you when we met before.” Roy grinned. “You’re very good at that poker face, Miss Hawkeye, but you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. You name-dropped on purpose.”

            Her lips twitched into a half-smile. “Good to know you’re still as cunning as ever.”

            “Answer my question.” After a moment, he added quietly, “ _Please?_ I didn’t know I was so lost until I found you.” The words tumbled forth quicker than he could stop them, but they weren’t untrue.

            He watched as he face crumbled. “Oh, Roy.” The use of his first name felt like it should be more disarming. It wasn’t. “I thought it would be easier if I left.”

            “On me?”

            She smiled softly. “I wish I could be a better person and say yes. But no. I meant easier for _me_. I’m selfish, I guess.”

            “Miss Hawkeye-”

            “Please don’t call me that. I told you ages ago to call me Riza.”

            “I don’t remember.”

            “I know.”

            They sat in an oddly comfortable silence, and as the minutes ticked away, his desire to be near her didn’t waver. He was stuck in a visceral reaction, and he vastly preferred it to the incertitude he’d been experiencing as of late. Even though Roy knew the puzzle hadn’t been solved, he didn’t seem as preoccupied by it. He thought it was enough that she had the pieces in her pocket. He didn’t necessarily need to see them yet.

            Riza stood and placed both empty teacups in the sink. She opened her mouth to speak, but a phone rang in another room and she motioned for him to wait. Her small dog had curled around his feet and nuzzled into his hand when he reached down to scratch between its ears. When she returned to the kitchenette, she leaned against the doorframe and watched him interact with the dog.

            “I think he likes me.” Roy smiled up at her.

            “He always did.” She stood behind the chair she’d previously occupied and fidgeted with the weaving on the back. “Now isn’t the best time to have the conversation I know you really want. I promise I’ll answer any questions, but not here.”

            “You name a time and place, and I’ll be there.”

            Riza handed him a folded piece of notebook paper. “That’s my address. You can come by after four this afternoon, and we’ll talk.”

            Several times that day, his hand stole into his pocket and touched the note - just to be sure it was real. Everything about his conversation with her that morning seemed outrageously strange. Being around her was unexpectedly calming. Anxiety he hadn’t been aware of melted away, and Roy didn’t want to leave. If she’d always provided him with such addictive company, he could understand how they’d managed to work fluidly together for so many years. High ranking officers didn’t often keep long-standing adjutants. His working relationship with Hawkeye had apparently been exceptional.

            The masochist in him waited until half-past-five to knock on her door. He didn’t want to seem too eager. When she pulled her front door open, Roy was immediately intoxicated. Her feet were bare, and the strands of hair that brushed his naked chest nearly every night in his dreams flowed tantalizingly over her shoulders. Roy stuffed his hands in his pockets for fear of touching it.

            Her apartment was small but seemed to suit her. Riza busied herself with tea, and he couldn’t help but absorb the aura of familiarity she had around him. Even if he couldn’t remember ever seeing her in person before a week or so ago, she clearly felt at home in his presence.

            “I meant what I said this morning, Colonel.” She pressed a cup of tea into his hand. “You can ask me anything.”

            He joined her on the small patio overlooking a quiet side-street. “I don’t want to upset you, but I have to know. Are you Berthold Hawkeye’s daughter?”

“I am.” She didn’t offer any explanations.

            “And you were my personal adjutant for a long time.”

            “I was.”  
            “How did that happen? Master Hawkeye hated the military, and I had to pry flame alchemy out of him once he’d realized what kind of career path I’d chosen for myself.”

            Riza’s lips twitched. “And how did that _prying_ go?”

            “Well, I-" Roy paused. “Eventually, he-" His head cocked to the side. “It’s been a long time. Forgive me. Details are hazy.”

            “My father didn’t give you his research, Roy.”

            “But-"

            “ _I_ did.”

            “I don’t remember that.”

            “I know.”

            “You say that a lot.”

            “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be obtuse or aggravating. I just think it’s important I only give you what you ask me for. Some things can’t be _un_ said.”

            “The things I’ve done with what I learned-"

            “I was there, too.”

            Roy stared at her, agape. So he’d dragged her with him into hell. He felt her hand lightly on his shoulder.

            “You don’t have to hide anything. I know what goes on in that head of yours, and you don’t have to keep it hidden. Not from me. I promised I’d never let you do anything like that again.”

            “But you _left._ How could you be sure I wouldn’t?”

            Riza’s eyes avoided him. “I told you I was selfish. Walking out on you was probably the second most selfish thing I’ve ever done.”

            “The second?”

            She finally looked at him and sighed quietly. “We were never perfect, Roy. Hurting each other is sometimes what we do.”

            Roy watched the sun set and finished his tea, even though it had gone completely cold. She took his cup and headed inside. He followed after a moment.

            “When can I see you again?” He hated that the question felt like he was asking for a second date.

            Riza smiled softly. “I only work mornings so I’m usually home around the same time every day.”

            “Does that mean I can come anytime?”

            “It does.”

            “You don’t have other commitments?”

            “Only the dog, and he isn’t nearly as much trouble as _you_ used to be.” The flirtatious tone of her voice made his cheeks warm.

            If Roy had been any more focused on his work, he’d have missed Havoc’s comment regarding the uptake in his productivity altogether. _Of course it has to do with Hawkeye. She’s the only one who could ever get him to do anything._

            He should’ve known better than to expect his lieutenant to keep the secret of his association with Riza quiet. Havoc was a drinker, and Breda his wingman. It was astounding he’d managed not to let the cat out of the bag sooner; three weeks of privacy was an Olympic-level accomplishment for Havoc. Apparently, Roy’s penchant for avoiding paperwork was a perfected art, and it wasn’t at all hard to believe Riza kept him on track in the past.

            More often than he’d care to admit, Roy found his thoughts lingering on her during the day, or really, whenever he wasn’t in her company. At first he hadn’t wanted to intrude on her personal time, but it was becoming routine to spend his evenings at her apartment. She didn’t seem to mind his frequent visits, and her sad smiles were slowly giving way to more thoughtful glances and twitches of her lip that he could swear were actual grins.

            Roy hadn’t the courage to ask about her confidence in his memories of them never returning, nor had he insisted on more details from her Promised Day recollections. More shocking than the source of the scar on her neck was how completely wrong his remembrance of that day was. Perhaps _wrong_ was not the right word. It felt more like a _corruption_. The sequence of events were muddled in some areas, and Roy realized he hadn’t actually pondered on the memory at all until he’d met Riza.

            Even more troubling were all the slightly scrambled areas of his life that he _simply hadn’t thought about_. Had he been in a trance until the afternoon when her dog leapt on his leg and tangled him in the leash? The mystery of it made his head ache.

            His dreams did not abate, and Roy hadn’t the first clue how to broach _that_ subject. He enjoyed their friendship and didn’t want to put her off with a confession of the sex dreams she starred in. Whatever the depth of their professional relationship and history surrounding his old alchemy master, he was fairly certain his feelings toward her didn’t end with either. The way his body responded to her seemed beyond his conscious control, and he didn’t exactly hate it – confusing as it was. Riza gave nothing away on her end. Clearly, she was a woman who held her cards close to her chest, and Roy was itching to know if one of them was his.

            “You look pale,” she stated plainly before inviting him inside.

            “I’m afraid I gave myself a bad headache today.” He fell onto her couch and closed his eyes.

            “What happened?”

            “I dug through all my alchemy texts last night and stayed up too late. My office is a mess.”

            Riza pressed a cold glass of water into his hand. “Why?”

            “I was trying to remember something.” He drank the water down and set the glass aside before turning towards her. “I don’t have a single scrap of paper with your dad’s research on it. Not a note, or a quick scratch… _nothing._ I’m sorry.”

            She reached out to straighten the collar of his shirt absently. “Why are you sorry?”

            “Because I’ve lost something important.”

            “You didn’t lose anything.”

            “If those notes got into the wrong hands-"

            “They can’t and won’t.”

            “How can you be sure?”

            The sad smile he hated filled her eyes with a tortured emotion. “I have to show you something.”

            Before he could prepare himself, she stood, turned her back to him, and pulled her t-shirt over her head. He watched as she swept her hair to one side and revealed something he could not believe he’d ever forgotten. Apart from two swaths of ruined skin, the array was in perfect condition. Roy stepped close to her, and without his permission, his fingers ghosted over the tattoo. The burn scars itched at him.

            “Did I…”

            Riza turned to him, her chest covered by her arms. “I asked you to do it when the war was over. I _begged_ you to ruin the entire thing, but you promised me no one would be able to translate what remained.” She stared up at him with haunted eyes. “I trusted you. I still do.”

            His lungs felt tight, and he did not think as he drew her against him. The motion felt more right than anything else in his miserable life. Her arms wrapped around him, and her embrace was fiercely tight.

            “Why is my closet half-empty?” He breathed into her hair. “Why is my apartment so big? _Why_ do I dream about you _every night_ , and-" Roy looked down at her and brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. “Why do I want to kiss you?”

            “I didn’t want to leave,” she whispered, “but it would’ve broken my heart to stay.” Her words were choked with unshed tears. “It broke anyway.”

            He was caught in her gravitational pull, and the urge to kiss her would not relent. Roy swiftly pressed his lips to hers and felt a few loose pieces inside his head slide into place. He loved her. Her fingers feathered through his hair, and his scalp tingled at her touch. Later, he would reflect on the peculiar sensation of one’s hands remembering expanses of skin the mind did not.

            Riza pulled him into her bedroom, and he did not resist. He could not. He was completely overwhelmed with that maddeningly vague familiarity that fluttered just out of reach, urging him to follow, and the desperate way she clung to him clawed at his heart. Roy didn’t dare close his eyes. He wanted to see her and make sure neither one of them drifted away this time. His dreams hadn’t done her justice.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Fugue_ **

_(dissonant)_

 

            When he was released from the hospital, Colonel Mustang returned to work against the advice of his doctors, and therapist. During his stay at the medical facility he’d heard terms like _dissociative amnesia_ , _fugue state_ , and _memory repression_ thrown around. They told him none of those diagnoses really fit his situation, but there wasn’t any other category to put him into. He couldn’t remember the events immediately leading up to the shooting that had left him nearly dead, and bleeding out in the basement of a warehouse in the industrial district of East City, but his injuries weren’t of the variety typical to psychologically driven amnesia.

            Lieutenant Havoc tried to debrief him on the reports and statements given by his team, who’d been _on-site_ but _not_ in the basement, however, the small print made his head throb, and he simply signed off on them without any study. There had been some annoyance on Havoc’s part when he showed no interest in the preliminary files, and Roy chalked his flustered way of presenting them to the stress of upheaval caused by the failed mission and his hospitalization.

            Roy’s apartment felt hollow. It made him uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d lived alone since his military career began so the sudden sensation of emptiness was odd. His closet sat half-full, and he took the time to carefully space out the hangers so it looked more populated; when he’d sat on the edge of his bed to inspect the way his suits and uniforms hung on the bar he thought the space really _was_ too big.

            It wasn’t just the closet that gave him pause. Once he’d found himself standing in the living room, hands pocketed, staring at the pattern of dust on a side table. All of his alchemy texts were kept in a locked bookshelf in his office, and there were no empty spaces. Had he misplaced some new books? The location of the table was off, as well. He hated the wingback chair next to it, and would’ve chosen the sofa any day of the week. Roy finally wiped the tabletop with a damp rag in irritation.

            The small glitches in his home paled in comparison to the dreams that accosted him nightly. The woman haunted him, and drifted through the phases of his life as if she belonged there. Roy knew she didn’t. His therapist had cocked an eyebrow when he admitted to the dreams with an uncomfortable stuttering. He wasn’t awkward with discussing sex in general, but talking about the incredibly intimate nature of his dreams felt wrong.

            Even more than the therapy itself, Roy hated the way Doctor Veloce’s stare pierced him during their sessions. She always seemed to be expecting something from him, but damned if he knew what it was. His memories just prior to the shooting were still stubbornly refusing to surface, and though she insisted he shouldn’t be frustrated with himself, Roy _was_ frustrated.

            He didn’t mean for the aggravation to spill out onto his staff, but it happened every now and then. The incidents weren’t even triggered by remotely important things, and that fact only added to Roy’s tension. Doctor Veloce explained that he’d suffered intense physical trauma, and it was only natural his rehabilitation period would have a few potholes. He considered potholes to be a _generous_ description; they were more like craters, and tripping into them was becoming more frequent.

            Of course his team was understanding, and tried to adjust themselves to his new pace – but Roy didn’t understand why they’d had to _adjust_ to anything _new_ at all. Had the Mustang Unit always been so ill-adapted? The clunky way he’d interacted with Havoc in a meeting with his commanding officer had been embarrassing. His lieutenant stood one step behind and to his left, yet every single time he’d tried to pass a folder to the general, Roy turned to the right first. Not once during the meeting did the empty space fail to take him aback, and cause a mental derailment. General Morris either didn’t notice or was too professional to react to the flubs.

            Even after office hours, when he was completely alone, he’d turn to his right with a question or comment on his tongue. The pattern of behavior infuriated him, and left him even more susceptible to the inexplicable loneliness he felt in his own home.

            On the nights he didn’t dream of the woman he was trapped in Ishval, and waking covered in a cold sweat reaching for the empty spot next to him. When had that space been occupied last, and by whom? He didn’t imagine it was anyone who could be counted on to understand the terrors in his head. Reaching out was pointless. When had he become such a useless wreckage of a person?

            With the incident that, apparently, rocked his existence to its rotten core nearly three months behind him, Roy gave up on sleeping past five in the morning. Wandering through East City as the sun rose, and breathing in the freshest air available became a frequent activity.

            The dog caught him off guard, and the voice that shouted after it completely bowled him over.

            “Hayate! No! What’s wrong wi-“ The woman paused in front of him, and stood stalk still. “I- I’m so sorry… sir.” She seemed to choke on her words. “He never does that.”

            Roy stared. He knew he was staring, and could not stop himself. “It’s fine.”

            “There’s not usually anyone out on this street so early,” she fumbled lightly over the comment, and her cheeks turned an enchanting shade of pink. Her eyes, though, they trapped him in the same state of beautiful anxiety as the haunted ones in his dreams.

            “I like to be out early. The spring mornings are my favorite.”

            “Yes, the honeysuckle here is lovely.” She flicked a strand of hair from her face and he noticed her hand trembled lightly.

            “My mother always laments the weather in Central isn’t agreeable enough for it to grow well there.”

            “She has good taste, your mother.”

            “That she does.” Roy couldn’t stop his eyes from fixating on this woman’s face. She looked remarkably like the presence in his dreams, and her _voice_. Something about her had grabbed ahold of him, and wouldn’t let go.

            “Well, I’d better get going, I work at the bookshop across the street, and we open soon. So…” She canted her body to leave, and waved lightly at him.

            “Wait!” He stepped forward, and clumsily searched for a reason to keep her there with him. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”

            The woman eyed him quietly for a moment, and Roy felt exposed. Not completely unlike how his therapist made him feel, but he didn’t mind so much – even if they were in the street and this woman was a total stranger.

            “Riza Hawkeye,” she said, and he watched as her mouth twitched into a tiny smirk.

            “Roy,” he mumbled as she led her dog back across the street.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Prelude_ **

_(dolore)_

 

            The voice of Truth was more childish than Pride’s had ever been. Riza didn’t think this was coincidental. The process by which the entity exacted tolls on those to cross into its realm wasn’t equivalent exchange, but painful irony. Irony that hadn’t been made wholly clear until she’d found herself clutching the dying body of her colonel at the gate. His blood was already starting to thicken and crust on her fingers, and his breaths were becoming faint. The deal wasn’t fair, but not much in her life ever had been. She would trade his memories of her for his life. What an exquisite torture chamber.

            “I-” Riza’s chin trembled, and her grip on his body tightened.

            “He’s nearly dead, and you still can’t decide?” The featureless specter grinned. “I’m beginning to doubt your devotion. Shall I rescind the offer?”

            _“No!”_ She shouted. The consequences could be weighed later; Roy’s life was priority. “I just-” Riza glanced down. His face paled by the second. “How can you… I mean, we have a history. Surely you can’t just slice out pieces of his memory without harming him or driving him mad?”

            “Such concern.” Truth’s laugh devastated her as it echoed off of nothing. “The human mind is a remarkable thing, Lieutenant. It’ll mend itself. The gaps will grow over one another like ivy on a wall.” The shape of his head tilted. “Though, I suspect he’ll want to simply avoid thinking of the gaps. Imagine searching your house for a lost shoe. Eventually you’ll give up and substitute another pair even though you’ve passed the missing item numerous times where it sits under the edge of your bed. Colonel Mustang won’t ever think to look under the edge of his bed, because he won’t know the shoe is even missing.”

            “But I’ll know.”

            “Yes, you will. That is the price.”

            Riza touched Roy’s cheek, and wiped a tear from his cooling skin. Her tear. “Do it,” She whispered. “What are you waiting for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. That's all folks! 
> 
> I don't think I've ever received such amazing feedback on any fic I've written in any fandom. Thank you so much for all your words, and for taking a chance on an experimental fic like this one. It means so much to me!
> 
> In case you hadn't noticed, this is heavily influenced by the song Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding. Fifty Shades of Grey did NOT deserve to have it on the soundtrack.


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